Ichigoichie
by MythNLynx
Summary: Pre-canon. Young adult Miroku has his first romantic encounter with another man. MirokuXOC. Yaoi


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DISCLAIMER: Inuyasha and all its characters are created by Rumiko Takahashi. I merely occasionally borrow them for my own twisted purposes.

---

_Ichigoichie._ "One moment, one encounter."

A precept of _Sadou_, the Way of Tea. A moment to be cherished for its uniqueness and transience.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Our lives are filled with these moments. The decision to act, or to hold. To move forward. When to hesitate is to lose. Moments that change everything, even our very essence.

_Ichigoichie._

_---_

I love women.

I adore them. All ages, shapes, and sizes. They are like an endless feast laid out before me. Adolescent maidens, slim and supple as willows. Middle-aged matrons and widows, soft as pillows. The women I flirt with, caress, ask to bear my children. The women who laugh, sigh, strike me, gaze at me adoringly, sneer at me in disgust. I love them all.

I've loved them since I was a young boy. My father would take me with him to the lesser teahouses, where the geisha bordered upon daruma, not refined enough to have their own danna, not quite vulgar enough to be called whore. Knowing how his time on this good earth was limited, he was loath to give up his "entertainments", but more loath still to leave me behind. So while the shamisen played and the saké flowed, while he sported among willing, nay, eager flesh, the older geisha took a motherless boy to their bosoms, ruffling my hair, telling me how handsome I would be, remarking over my unusual violet eyes, and stuffing me with sakuramochi and other sweets until I grew nauseous and sleepy. Night after night I drifted into slumber, my nose filled with incense, sweat, milk, talc and cheap perfume, my ears ringing with plaintive strains of music and the echoes of their laughter. This was my first home. Among women, and always with my father close at hand, unrestrained and alive in a way that Japanese men just _aren't, _wanting to do it all, knowing there will never be enough time. An oddly desperate way of living.

How does a man like me, a man with such a deeply ingrained love of women, come to love men as well?

That would be the fault of Brother Makoto.

---

After my father was taken by the Kazaana, I lived with Mushin at the shuudouin. I arrived hurt, lost and lonely. I soon became industrious, studious... and lonely. The other imadoushin avoided me, afraid of the sullen boy with his dreadful burden. Even the older bouzu didn't spend much time with me, limiting contact to the assignment of chores and lessons. And Mushin? He was too caught up in his love affair with a denjikami, a Rice Maiden. Some claim it was just a polite way of saying that he was an old drunkard, but I know differently. I met his paramour one night, pale as moonlight, hair the color of bran. Her laughter was wind on the water, her voice a ripple among the reeds, and her kiss... Yes, she kissed me. A kiss for my violet eyes, she said. Her kiss tasted of the sweetest saké, the likes of which I have yet to taste again. Mushin will never go hungry, never drown, never drink himself to death, so long as he has the favor of his kamisama.

One evening, Brother Makoto arrived. He was a houshi, not unlike the man that I've become. He was warm but intense, and I watched him from the shadows, drawn to him as I had not been drawn to any man since my father's death. His keen eye was like that of a blue jay, alighting on this or that, plucking at it, examining it. He observed all the imadoushin as we served at dinner. He seemed to be seeking something, a certain quality, or a sign. He was peering into our faces, pushing at our comfort levels, and I found myself meeting his gaze. There was a sharp intake of breath. "You, boy, what is your name?"

"My name is Miroku, houshi-sama," I replied, lowering my gaze again. He merely nodded in acknowledgement, then became lost in thought. He spoke with one or two other novices, asking their names, asking questions. I thought nothing of it, but continued to watch him from under the privacy of my bangs. He was unlike any of the other brothers I lived with.

Dinner ended, and we imadoushin prepared to retire to our cells; breakfast would needs be ready with the sun. As I went to leave the hall, Brother Makoto called after me. "Hold, young Miroku; I would speak with you and your foster father." Obediently I returned to my place beside Mushin in the hall. Brother Makoto sat down beside us. "Mushin," he began, "I would have your son for my aibou tonight."

"Makoto," my foster father replied, "this boy cannot serve you in that way. Choose another." Serve him in _that_ way? I was silent, as was my place, but intrigued, nonetheless.

"What are you saying, Mushin? Will you not share him with an esteemed brother, just for one night?"

"It isn't like that, Makoto-san. But this boy will not know how to serve you. Miroku is untouched; he is as innocent as the sparrows in our courtyard." Now I was definitely curious; just what was it this strange monk was asking?

"Untouched? Ne, how can this be? He is so lovely, graceful as a cat, with hair like a raven's wing and eyes the color of irises. Surely you've allowed yourself a taste."

Mushin shook his head. "Alas, my mistress kami would not stand for it; she is jealous of my affections, and exceedingly fond of the boy, as well."

"But surely one of the others--"

"No, they all fear the Kazaana that lies beneath his ojuzu. None have touched him, and none will." Mushin stated. It was true; since my father's passing, no one had touched me, neither man nor woman, other than Mushin and his kami. And oh, how I longed for a human touch.

"I see..." Makoto-san's brow furrowed attractively as he carefully worded his next thought. "Then may I become shishou to his teishi?"

"He is old enough to make that decision on his own."

Makoto-san turned his sharp gaze upon me. "Well, what say you, young Miroku? Care to become my pupil in the ways of love between men?"

I found myself trembling with unbearable excitement. "Will you... will you touch me, sensei? Will you touch me without fear?"

"I will."

Thus I became his teishi.

---

With unsteady hands, I lit the lamps, stirred the embers in the brazier to life. I felt his eyes upon me as I laid out the futon and covered it with a soft kakebuton. I shivered as I stripped down to my kosode, although the room was quite warm. All the while, Makoto-sensei watched me, as an owl watches a field mouse. I struggled not to panic beneath his intense stare. I finished making the room ready, then went to kneel before my new shishou. "Sensei, please."

Long, strong fingers grazed my cheekbone. My breath hitched, and I leaned into his palm. "Boy, are you afraid? You need not do this; you're trembling like an aspen leaf."

I sighed as I raised my eyes to his. "I am... nervous, Makoto-san. But don't turn me away now, shishou. Onegai." My eyes brimmed, tears threatening to fall at the thought of being sent away, again untouched.

His graceful hand drew me to sit beside him on the futon. "Miroku, come here to me." Now my tears did fall, but they were tears of gratitude. I was not to be turned away, left to my loneliness once more. A gentle face looked down into my own. Brother Makoto leaned in, kissed the salt from my cheeks. His lips caressed my eyelids, then swept down and brushed softly over my mouth. I returned his kiss eagerly, opening to the insistent prodding of his tongue. He tasted strongly of tea and a smoky flavor, like roasted pine nuts. He pulled back and gazed at me with heavy-lidded eyes grown dark and hazy with desire. I struggled not to wriggle under his regard, and he chuckled low, a reverberation that made things tighten in places I only touched when I was alone.

I watched, puzzled, as he turned away to fill a small dish with fragrant oil. Then he turned back to me, and pushed me back onto the futon. He tugged at the ties of my kosode, loosening them, then stretched out next to me. He swept my bangs back from my forehead, and I felt as if I was drowning in his brown-black gaze. I shuddered as his lips brushed below my ear. "Tell me, boy," he murmured against my skin, "they say you are untouched, but do you not touch yourself?" He parted my kosode, and I flushed with embarrassment and desire as he lightly pinched my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "So small and hard... Do you touch yourself here?" My eyes drifted closed and I moaned softly. His fingers trailed down my abdomen, pausing to circle my navel. "How about here?" he whispered. I shivered beneath his touch, wondering at the unfamiliar sensations coursing through me. "And here?" he asked, firmly grasping my member and pumping it with a practiced hand.

"Aah!" I gasped, involuntarily arching into his hand, groaning as he ran his thumb around and over its head before pressing into the sensitive dimple at its tip. It feels so different from when you touch yourself, when someone else touches you. You have no control, and the sensations are intensified beyond any you can bring to yourself. I was awash in longing. "Sensei, please!" I pleaded again, unsure even of what I was asking.

"Please what, little man?" I could feel his breath ghosting across the hard evidence of my desire. Surely he didn't mean to... "Please this?" he asked, sweeping his tongue across the head of my cock.

"Makoto-san!" I hissed with pleasure. He engulfed me in the warm cavern of his mouth. His talented tongue swirled against my flesh, distracting me from the movement of his hands. A trickle of oil ran between the cheeks of my buttocks as his finger prodded at my entrance. I flinched away, nervous and unsure. He nuzzled his cheek against my cock, murmuring soft reassurances as he stroked my flank with his other hand. Gradually I relaxed, and he carefully worked his slick digit into my tight hole. He crooked his finger and stroked... something... deep within me. I cried out, and nearly came right then, the pleasure was so intense.

He chuckled again as he firmly squeezed the base of my member. "Ah, ah, not yet, my koibito," he gently admonished, holding me steady as he worked another finger into me. I writhed beneath his ministrations, straining for his touch. My body felt feverish as he pumped his fingers in and out of me, gradually gaining speed as I became accustomed to him. My mind stuttered, unable to articulate a clear thought, and I could hear myself whimpering, yearning for something as yet unknown.

He smiled down at me as he gently pulled his fingers out of me. I felt their loss keenly, and sighed with the ache. Brother Makoto untied his own kosode. I could see his own desire, standing proudly erect, and felt the slightest bit of trepidation. Did he mean to put that within me? He slicked his member with oil; it gleamed in the candlelight. He knelt between my thighs and bent to kiss me full on the lips. I could taste myself on him, salty and slightly bitter. I could feel him pressing against my entrance, and I tensed beneath him. "Shh, Miroku, relax. Just breathe through it. You remember your breathing, don't you? Breath is life," he coaxed me gently. Slowly he pushed his way in, and for a moment the pain was excruciating.

"A-aah! I cried, muscles clamping around him, trying to push out the invading flesh. He stroked my cock; the conflicting pleasure and pain confused my senses, and I opened to him.

He eased inside me and as he struck that... something... again, I moaned my desire for him. "That's it, koishii, let go. Feel how good it is, how much I want you. Let me hear you," he encouraged, "give me all your joy. You are wanted. You are loved. Let me touch you, bring you pleasure."

I clung to him, weeping. "Yes, sensei, please... Please touch me, make me feel. Make me real again, don't leave me alone. I want this so badly. I want you. I need you," I sobbed. "Please, Makoto-san," I begged as he rocked within me, making me shudder in ecstasy, "love me. Onegai!" I gasped, my vision going white. I climaxed as I never had before, sobbing and sighing safe within the shelter of his strong arms. A father's arms. For a once-in-a-lifetime moment, I had my father back, and all was well. Brother Makoto threw his head back, and with a hoarse cry, he emptied himself inside me. He wrapped me safe within his strong arms. I burrowed into the strong warmth of him, comforted and whole at last.

---

Makoto-san stayed at the shuudouin for a week. We made love many times, and a change came over me. I stood a little straighter; I started to look others in the eye; I became quick to smile, and even to laugh. I began to heal, to find my place in the world. Even the others began to notice; the imadoushin no longer shied away from me, and one old bouzu swore to anyone who would listen that I grew two inches taller that week. I realized myself just how far I had come when, at the end of the week, I was approached by one of the other novices. A shy young man, he ventured a tentative smile at me. "I like your eyes," he said, "they're the color of the irises that grow along the banks of the stream near my parents' home." I smiled back at him, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He blushed most becomingly. I thanked him, then asked him if he would like to come to my room that night. He nodded shyly, and I ruffled his hair.

Thank you, Makoto-san. For everything.

_Ichigoichie._

_---_

_A/N: For my non-otaku fans..._

Glossary (in order of appearance):

**Ichigoichie:** Literally "one moment, one encounter". A once-in-a-liftime opportunity, a moment that changes everything. Carpe diem. A precept of **Sadou**, the Way of Tea or art of tea ceremony.

**geisha:** "artisan". A paid companion skilled in the arts, an entertainer, sometimes a concubine.

**daruma:** "tumbling doll". A dancing girl, a high-class prostitute.

**danna:** "husband". In this case, a geisha's patron, with sexual privileges.

**shamisen:** A stringed Japanese instrument

**sakuramochi: **"cherry mochi" A sweet treat made from sticky rice and sweet red adzuki bean paste, wrapped in a cherry leaf.

**shuudouin:** A monastery.

**imadoushin:** A novice or neophyte.

**bouzu: **A Buddhist priest.

**denjikami: **A compound word I coined made up of **denji:** A rice paddy or field, and **kami:** A god or nature spirit. A Rice Maiden.

**houshi:** An itinerant Buddhist monk.

**aibou: **A companion. Some sexual connotations.

**Kazaana: **Wind Tunnel. A curse inflicted upon Miroku's family line, a vacuum hole in his hand. May also be used as a weapon.

**o-juzu: **Prayer beads in Japanese Buddhism.

**shishou:** Master. More revered than a teacher.

**teishi:** Pupil, disciple, follower.

**sensei: **Teacher or master.

**futon: **Thick, quilted matress rolled out on the floor.

**kakebuton: **Quilted bedding over a futon, duvet.

**kosode:** kimono-like undergarment, calf-length with narrow sleeves, worn under **wafuku: **traditional Japanese clothing like **kimono: **long robe, **hakama: **long pants or split skirt, and **haori:** short robe or shirt.

**onegai: **Please.

**koibito:** Beloved.

**koishii:** Lover.


End file.
